Guiding Light
by Elvarya
Summary: 1912. Two very different people board the RMS Titanic, unaware of how completely their lives are about to change. S/J Titanic!AU. Rated T for allusions to sexual acts, though nothing explicit.


I really need to stop writing Titanic!AU, don't I? If you aren't aware, I wrote a Supernatural Dean/Castiel Titanic!AU before, but I'm working to make sure this isn't just a rehash with changed names. I've written a couple move AU's, but I'm getting a bit bolder with this one, taking a few more liberties. I'm not sure how long this one will be, because the last one I wrote was 14k and it directly followed the movie (as in, I had the script open on my laptop the entire time I was writing it), but this time, I'm not even looking at the script and I'm trying to expand certain scenes more than I did in the other one, maybe even add a scene or two. In short, I'm trying to make it a bit more original. Anyways! To clarify things early on, Sherlock is in the role of Rose and John is in the role of Jack. Also, please don't think I hate Mycroft, Irene, or Jim from this. In fact, I absolutely adore all three characters. They just fit so well into the roles for this story, and that means they have to be considered terrible D: It's because it's Sherlock's POV, I swear! Anyways, I really hope you enjoy it. Also, I'm not planning to have any explicit sex in this. Sorry to disappoint you.

* * *

It's amazing how things can change. How people we once knew can become strangers. How families can swell and shrink like the tides. How such a small amount of time can irreversibly alter a person.

And I'm not talking about the sinking ship. It happened. It was traumatic, yes. And I won't ever forget it, that much I can assure you.

But the truly life-altering aspect wasn't so much a _what_ as it was a _who._

I can remember the first time I saw him. I was leaning against the railing on the first class deck, coat blowing around me but succeeding in blocking most of the wind, he was sitting on a wench on the third class deck, clad in clothing that even from that distance looked to be thin and worn. He was poor, that much was evident.

Even so, he caught my attention. He was staring out at the waves. We hadn't been gone long, but already, the shore had shrunk away, leaving stretches of blue ocean in all directions.

Evidently, he felt my eyes upon him and shifted, meeting my gaze head-on.

There was a certain intensity there, though I couldn't quite figure how or why. He seemed simultaneously hard and soft. It intrigued me.

He broke his gaze away when a brunette woman in a worn dress approached him and said something. They walked away without looking back and I soon lost sight of them. I sighed and tried to put him out of my mind, acutely aware that the woman was most-likely his wife.

I tried to go through the routine of things, but it was getting more difficult with each passing day. Mycroft was keeping close watch on me, as was Jim.

I met my brother back in our stateroom as he was unpacking paintings. I glanced at the things and mentally scoffed. I'd never seen the purpose of traveling with our entire art collection, or the art collection in general. I preferred walls bare of decoration and rooms uncluttered by anything besides the books I'd long-since memorized. It allowed me to think, allowed me to focus and quiet the noise of everything else.

"Ah, there you are, Sherlock," Mycroft nodded as I entered. "I feared you'd gotten lost."

I gave him a look, eyebrow quirked slightly, as I sat down on the sofa. I quickly realized that it was entirely decorative; there was no comfort to it whatsoever, as with everything on the ship, as far as I could tell.

"Do you really think I'm one to get lost, Mycroft?" I asked, eyebrow still raised questioningly.

"Don't start, please," Mycroft said, turning to me fully and abandoning the paintings leaned against the unlit fireplace.

"Start what?" I feigned innocence.

"_That_, Sherlock," he challenged. "Can't we just have a nice trip? Finest ship in the world, here, and you're still moping!"

"Oh, piss off!" I exclaimed, pulling my feet up and turning my back to him, not really caring what effect it had on the state of my clothing. I really couldn't be bothered.

"Language!" a smooth, subtly Irish voice chastised. I suppressed a groan as I easily recognized it. Jim Moriarty. Father of my soon-to-be wife. She was already in America, staying with relatives, and we were meeting her there.

"Oh, hello, Jim!" Mycroft said happily. I looked over to see them shaking hands. "How are your quarters? Ours seem to be phenomenal."

"Oh, mine is the same," Moriarty assured him. "Best anyone could hope for!"

The men laughed, though they fell quiet as I rose to my feet, made some comment about needing some air, and left the room.

And so I found myself back on deck. Soon after, the bell rang for dinner, but I didn't move. I stayed in my same position, leaning against the same rail I'd been against when I'd first seen him, unmoving for the longest time. It fell dark and got cold, but still I remained. I'd long ago found that digesting slowed my thinking, and thinking was something I needed to do a lot of at the moment.

I grimaced as I thought of what waited for me in America. Her name was Irene, and I'd met her just once, but that short meeting was enough for me to know that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with her. Or any woman, for that matter. Mycroft, however, thought he was doing "what was best for me" and wouldn't hear a word of it if I even brought up the topic of not marrying Irene. And now we were on the ship, steaming away full-speed ahead, on our way to meet her.

I could run from it, I supposed. Though, I knew I wouldn't get very far. Moriarty was a powerful man indeed. He had connections. I wouldn't make it far before he found me and either killed me or forced me into marrying his daughter.

I had two options. Marry Irene Moriarty of my own volition, go quietly into the night. Or run, get beaten half to death, and still wind up taking her hand in marriage.

I chose the third.

Which was how I found myself sprinting towards the bow, away from Irene Moriarty, and towards the end I'd chosen for myself. I slammed into the rail before I realized I was at the end. The impact would bruise, that much was for sure. Not that I'd be around to be inconvenienced by it.

I felt the slick painted metal in my hands, the cool texture of it, and took a deep breath.

And another.

Slowly, I climbed over the rail, gripping the top bar tightly behind me. I closed my eyes again, took another deep breath, acutely aware that it would be one of my last. I started to lean forward, prepared to let go, when suddenly there was a voice less than a foot away from me.

"You sure you want to do this?"

My eyes burst open and I jerked my head to the side, shocked to see the man from the third class deck standing beside me, staring casually out into the dark.

I didn't reply, so the man continued on. "Okay, here's a better question. Are you sure you want to do it _like_ this?" Still, I remained silent. Each heartbeat reverberated through my entire being, a loud, constant thumping, ticking off the last moments of my life. "Personally, I couldn't imagine a worse way to go. From this distance, hitting the water would be like hitting rock. And don't even kid yourself about the water temperature! I've heard men describe it as being stabbed simultaneously with a thousand knives. Not exactly a nice or noble way to go." I found that, for the first time in my life, I was entirely incapable of speaking. "Or, unless you don't want nice or noble?" Still, silence was the man's reply. "Look, the least you could do is nod your head or something!"

"I have to do it," I finally said, voice much quieter than I'd have liked, though at this proximity, I knew he heard me.

"I don't see a gun to your head," the man observed.

"It's my brother," I said.

"Your brother's pointing a gun at your head?" he asked, deadpan.

I almost cracked a smile at that. Almost. "No, he's forcing me to marry this vile woman."

"Ah," he nodded. "You don't like her then."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Not even close."

"And you can't pull out of it?"

"Best case scenario, her father's lackeys beat me up and I still marry his daughter, though with a few additional scars and bruises."

"And worst case?" the man asked tentatively.

"My body is never found."

That gave him pause, though barely. "So how is this any better?" he challenged.

"I have control this way," I said. "It's my choice."

"Everything is your choice," he assured me. "Are you sure you want to make this one?" My head fell forward as I let out a breath, my body losing a lot of it's gathered tension. "That's better," he said with the slightest of smiles as I began to turn around and climb back over, wrapping his hand lightly around my wrist just as my foot slipped, throwing me into the darkness.

I cried out in shock, aware only of the feeling of nothingness around me and his hand wrapped painfully tightly around my wrist.

"I've got you!" he exclaimed, adding his other hand to the one gripping my arm. "Can you-" he groaned against my weight, braced painfully against the metal bars. "Can you reach the bars?" I tried to make some motion of affirmation, but it just caused him to struggle more. Luckily, he got the message, because he hoisted me up the last inch and a half I needed to reach the lowest bar. Ten seconds later, I was laying on the ground while he leaned against the rail, breathing almost as hard as I was.

That was the moment that Mycroft saw fit to show up with two crewman. I could see the assumption in their eyes. It was dark and all they could see was me splayed out on the ground and a man who was clearly from third class, still looking extremely alarmed from his heroic feat.

"Seize him!" Mycroft exclaimed, pointing at John.

"No, wait!" I wheezed. "Mycroft, don't!"

The man was already cuffed, leaning slightly forward as he was manhandled by the crewmen.

"Sherlock!" my brother sighed in relief, rushing to my side. "You're okay?"

"Perfectly," I said, forcing myself up into a sitting position, though my arms didn't seem to want to support me and the shaking in my hands traveled up through my entire body, wracking me.

"We heard the shout, and you were on the ground when we got here," Mycroft explained. "We could only assume…"

I was regaining my breath now. "I merely slipped," I informed him. "Shouted on the way down, then had the wind knocked out of me. Mr. er," I glanced at the man, aware that I still didn't know his name.

"Watson," he supplied. "John Watson."

"Mr. _Watson_ here was simply on hand at the time, and willing to help."

Mycroft looked to John, eyes taking in every inch of him. Every patch on his well-worn clothing, every dirty spot and stain. It took him a while. Finally, he smiled, though anyone who knew him could see the false gratitude in it.

"Well then, we must thank Mr. Watson, shouldn't we?" He turned to John, reaching for his wallet. "Does a twenty sound fair?" The number surprised me. Mycroft clearly didn't want the story of his clumsy younger brother spreading around the ship. Thank god he didn't know the truth.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a dinner invitation," I said. There was no compromise in my voice.

Both men looked at me in surprise, but Mycroft nodded quickly. "Fine. Mr. Watson, meet us by the Grand Staircase at 6 o'clock sharp tomorrow evening. Don't be late," he added warningly, giving John a sharp look before turning his back and walking away.


End file.
